“May I have this picture, Mrs. Bailey? I’ll return it the next time we visit. I’d just like to look at it for a while.”
“You can do anything you want. You can keep it.” She pulled the photo out of the album, handed it to Curt, and kissed him on the cheek.
They were still looking through the album when Sally and Veronica arrived. Now it was a clash of conflicting agendas and mixed messages—Leaving so soon? I thought your train wasn’t until this evening. Can’t you stay for lunch? What about meeting us after mass, and we’ll all go visit the aunts together?
“No, I’m sorry, we really must get going,” Frederick said.
“What’s the rush?” Curt said. “I think your mother—”
He insisted they had to return Margie’s car, she was waiting for them.
“Well, it was so good seeing you, Freddy,” Sally said, “even if the circumstances were…” She looked at Clare. “You know.”
“Mom says I can come visit you in New York,” Veronica said as she embraced him.
“No, I said we would ask Freddy if he would like some visitors. Now is not the time to discuss it.” Then to Frederick: “I keep telling the kids you design tall buildings, but I don’t think they have any idea what that means. I’d love for them to see what you do.”
Frederick replied, “Yes, of course,” but again felt it was just the kind of thing family members say, not really meaning it. Then he turned to his mother. “Mama, we’re leaving now.” He thought to acknowledge his father’s death and his now-watchful gaze down upon them (though he wasn’t that kind of believer, he knew it would make sense to his mother), but he decided to avoid the subject altogether.
Curt reached out and gave Clare a long, tight embrace. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Bailey,” he said, “I’m so sorry.” She held him tight in return, but said nothing.
Alone at last in the car with Curt, Frederick felt embarrassed by how abruptly he’d taken leave of his family. He wanted reassurance Curt didn’t think less of him. But he felt awful even to hint in that direction. Instead, “I want to apologize for my mother,” he said.
“Why? She’s done nothing wrong!” Curt could have said more but held his tongue. He knew Frederick wasn’t in his right mind and didn’t want to start a fight.
“I mean, we can still drive around the city if you like. We have some time. You want a little taste of small-town Pennsylvania?”
“Whatever you want.”
Sensing Curt’s indifference, Frederick decided in a burst of spontaneity, “Well, you know what I really want? When I was a kid, I used to prowl around construction sites. I’d love to do that right now!” There was a new development in Wyomissing, he said, on the way to Marge’s house. After checking out of the hotel, they could go exploring there. Frederick glanced around to see if anyone was looking. The car was shaded by heavy trees. The porch was empty. He turned to kiss Curt on the mouth, but just then a couple and two children appeared, coming up Perry Street. All he permitted himself was a thank you.
“For what?” (They shouldn’t have left the way they did, was all Curt could think.)
“For everything.”
After checking out of the hotel, Frederick drove toward Shillington, west of the city, but then took the detour through Wyomissing. They descended a hill at the bottom of which was a corner property where the house was only half finished. The ground was mud. Trucks and large piles of bricks stood between the road and the front door of the house.
“I sort of feel like I’m breaking and entering,” Curt said, trying to play along with Frederick’s game but still stuck on the way they’d left Clare.
A wood plank served as a ramp leading to an entrance foyer. From there, a staircase led straight up to the second floor. To the right was a large room spanning the entire depth of the house.
“Okay, here’s the living room,” Frederick said. He could tell because, for one thing, there was a fireplace and the room was large. They stepped carefully amid loose piles of lumber, sawhorses, and wood-cutting machinery. A doorway led to a smaller room at the back of the first floor. “And this is some kind of office or den. See, there’s going to be a door that gives onto the back patio, and a door to the basement…” They entered a series of broken corridors. He pointed out the probable locations of the laundry room, kitchen appliances, and dining room.
“And what about through there?” Curt asked.
“The garage.”
“You know, Frederick, I was thinking, about your mother. If she needs to move in with you—you know, in your apartment in New York—I could move out.”
Frederick was taken aback. “But she’s not coming to New York.”
“I thought you were considering it.”
“What makes you think that? I didn’t say anything—”
“Don’t get testy, I thought—”
“I’m not testy, I just don’t know where you’re getting that idea.”
Obviously he’d tripped a switch. “Sorry, I was only saying—”
“Saying what?”
Frederick was primed for confrontation. But Curt hadn’t meant this to be a confrontation. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
“Sorry for nothing! Sorry I said anything! I only meant to suggest I would move out if she needed to live with you.”
“Is that what you want?”
“It seems like a complicated decision, what to do with your mother, and she obviously doesn’t want to live with your sister.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about you, not my mother.”
“Well, I am talking about your mother.”
“Why should you care what happens to my mother?”
“Do you even care what happens to your mother?”
“What business is it of yours what I think or feel or do about my mother?”
“She’s your mother!”
“That’s funny coming from someone who says if he never spoke to his mother again he wouldn’t give a shit.”
“My family is fucked up, that’s different. But you have a real family.”
“Oh, and what is a ‘real family’?”
Seeing the scope of the conflict he’d set off, Curt stepped through the door out onto the back patio and sat down on a stack of bricks, his back to the house. Frederick lit a cigarette and watched him. Everything depended on the way he handled this. He knew from bitter experience, Curt didn’t like to be confronted. Couldn’t be controlled. He went out onto the patio.
“I’m sorry, I’m not myself these days. It’s hard for me to think straight about anything, especially my mother, right now.”
“What sort of future do you see for us?” Curt asked. Here he was again, posing a question for which Frederick was ill-prepared. He felt a curtain slowly descending. “Frederick, let’s be honest. Things have changed in your family because of your father’s death, and it could affect our relationship.”
“Hello?” A voice came from behind them. They turned to see a young man and a little girl. “I’m Jack McCoy. I own this house.”
Frederick apologized, saying they hadn’t meant to trespass. “I’m an architect, I was taking my—”
“I closed on it last week and wanted to show my daughter the place. This is Lisa. Say hello to the gentlemen.” Seeing how Frederick neglected to introduce his companion, Jack introduced himself to Curt. Then to Frederick, “So, you build houses?”
“Mostly large apartment buildings. I work in New York. I’m originally from Reading, but the firm I work for is in New York.” He was babbling.
“I see.” Jack looked at Curt.
“You’ve picked a nice place to live,” Frederick said, hoping to distract him from whatever might be going through his head just now regarding himself and Curt.
“Well, my wife saw it first and persuaded me. Seems like too much house to me, tell you the truth.”
Frederick took this as his cue to inquire about the rest of his family. Was it just the one c
hild?
“No, we have four, plus a fifth on the way.”
Frederick and Jack talked about the need for more space when raising a family, housing prices, lawyers, the development of the Reading area, especially Wyomissing, which seemed to be attracting a lot of young newcomers these days. Meanwhile Curt was coaxing some words out of Lisa, who, little by little, warmed to his attentions.
“I’m seven.”
Curt asked which room would be hers. She said she didn’t know and tugged on her father’s sleeve, but he was talking about the trees. “I don’t like the idea of moving into an area without any trees. I don’t exactly know how long it takes for trees to grow their full height, but it’s gonna be several years.”
“They’ll probably grow faster than you expect.”
“If trees are anything like little girls,” he said, sweeping Lisa up in his arms and giving her a loud kiss.
They proceeded carefully up the steps since the railing hadn’t been put in place.
“The master bedroom is to the right, I believe,” Jack said.
There were three other bedrooms, and Lisa ran from one to the other.
“Can I pick the one I want?”
Jack laughed, “We’ll see.”
“I want this one,” she cried when she entered the front room. “I can see the road and the driveway so I’ll always know who’s coming to visit.”
“You want to be the eyes and ears of the house?”
“Yes,” she giggled. “Does Lucy have to share with me?”
“She’s your little sister, you mean you don’t want to share your room with her?”
“No, I want my own room.”
“There aren’t enough bedrooms for you to have one all to yourself, Angel. You know we share in this family.”
“Do I always have to share with her?”
“All right, that’s enough, we’re not gonna decide right now. We’re just looking around.”
“What’s up there?” Curt asked Jack.
It was the attic. Jack said, if they continued having children, they might turn it into a bedroom, but for now they would just use it for storage. Then to Frederick, “Amazing how much stuff you accumulate when you have a family,” putting extra emphasis on the word “stuff.”
“I can imagine,” Frederick said, now feeling the strain of making polite conversation. He turned to Curt and muttered, “We ought to be going.”
Curt shrugged his shoulders, reminding Frederick their earlier conversation was still a dangling live wire. They said goodbye to Jack and Lisa, but rather than head to Marge’s right away, Frederick suggested they walk around the block, for they still had time before their train.
“She was a sweet little girl,” Curt said. Frederick wasn’t interested in talking about the girl or her father. “And he was kind of yummy. Don’t you sometimes just want to fuck every guy you meet?”
Now he seemed to be saying things calculated to upset him. “No, I don’t,” Frederick said sharply.
“Did I say something wrong?” Curt asked, feeling certain Frederick was burning for another fight.
“You wanted to fuck that guy?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Really?”
“No. I don’t know. Maybe. So what? What’s eating you?” Frederick hesitated. “Yes, I’d like to fuck him. Yes, I thought she was cute. Yes, I’d love to have a daughter like that someday.”
“Well, I hope you get one. But then, of course, it won’t have anything to do with me.”
“How could it? Two men can’t have a child.”
“So you’re saying you want to go straight now?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Who’s being ridiculous? You want to fuck every man you meet, and now you want to be a father? Be serious.”
“Why does that threaten you?”
“I just think you’re showing what a child you really are. And you say you want a child of your own!”
“Why shouldn’t I want a child?”
“Since the day I met you, you’ve never said or done anything to indicate you have the capacity to care for a child, let alone another person, any kind of person.”
“I suppose nothing I’ve done over the past five days matters at all.” He was silent for a moment, then said, “Frederick, I think we should talk—”
“Don’t say another word. Please don’t.” Curt thought he was about to cry.
“So you just want me to shut up. You don’t like anything I have to say today, and now I should just shut the fuck up, is that it?”
“I’m sorry. Forgive me. I think I want to get out of here, get out of Reading.” He looked at the houses under construction, their wooden frames and abstract forms, and the barren hill under the bright sun. Quicker than words could form in his head, he thought of hills with olive trees and red tiled roofs and golden light showering down amid ancient ruins, the dome of St. Peter’s on the horizon. “Why don’t we take a vacation? Really get away. I think that’s what I need.”
“Maybe you should take a vacation.”
“I mean you and me. Let’s us go somewhere. Let’s go to Europe. Let’s go to Italy! This summer!” It had always been a dream of Curt’s…to fly…Europe… But was Frederick serious? “Let me take you to Europe. I think two, three weeks in Europe would do us both a lot of good. A whole month! It would give us a chance to really be together. We’ve never been truly alone together. There’s always some disruption. I think we need to have that experience of traveling together. It would be wonderful! Let me take you.”
Curt was skeptical. He wanted Frederick in his life, it wasn’t that he didn’t. He saw how touchy Frederick became if he said anything that suggested he wasn’t happy or wanted to break up. But he felt, more than ever, an exclusive relationship with one person was never going to work for him. Not at this point in his life. But to say that now, with Frederick so fragile (for he really did care about the man’s feelings), and now when he was offering to take him on a trip to Europe—and if he were to refuse, everything would fall apart—and he did care about Frederick, it was a nice life they had together, it wasn’t that he didn’t want to be with him—he needed to make sure Frederick understood—
“Well?”
“You know I care about you,” Curt said.
Frederick was still waiting for his answer.
“Of course I would love to go to Italy with you.” But there are a few things I think we should discuss—that was what he wanted to say, what he should have said. But here they were, back where they’d parked the car. Frederick was already inside, putting the key in the ignition. Curt got in and closed the door. He put his arms around Frederick’s neck and laid his head on his chest and rested there without saying a word. He thought of Marcello Mastroianni in La Dolce Vita and imagined the handsome Italian men and voluptuous Italian women he was sure to meet in Rome.
Frederick looked out the window for signs of Jack and his little girl. No one in sight. They were safe in the car in their deserted village of the future. “I want you to be happy,” he said. “I want us to be happy.” He started the car.
Upon their arrival at Marge’s, Curt promptly went out back to play with Markie, who was learning to throw a football. Frederick, meanwhile, was bracing for more unpleasantness with his sister. They needed to come to an agreement about what to do, at least for the short term, about their mother. But he needn’t have worried. For Marge was tired and washed out from yesterday. The house was a mess, and she looked a mess. Their conversation was brief and restrained. He proposed that Clare continue to live with her until more permanent arrangements could be made. In his mind he’d prepared a statement about how he wasn’t going to dignify her comments at the reception by discussing them in any way, they were beneath dignity, if she wanted his financial assistance this was how it had to be, like it or not—but none of it was necessary.
Neither of them was inclined to prolong the visit. He was in a rush, he said, and called for a taxi. He wou
ld contact her later this week to arrange the next available weekend—he didn’t have his appointment book handy—when he might come to Reading to scout out nursing homes in the area.
When the taxi arrived, Marge called Markie and Curt in from out back, then said a cool goodbye. Markie gave long, impassioned hugs to both men, hanging on especially to Curt like a long-lost brother.
“We’ll be back soon,” Frederick said to Markie, stooping to his level and brushing the hair from his forehead. It was then he noticed his sister looking at him. Her expression was hard to interpret. It wasn’t disapproving, but neither was it warm. For a split second he thought to apologize for everything that had happened, starting with their father’s death. But he mustn’t keep the taxi waiting.
Frederick and Curt spoke little on the way to the station and then on the train back to New York. Both were glad to be returning to the city. Curt was eager to gain some distance from Frederick and his moods. At the same time he nursed his anticipation of their trip to Italy, which they decided would be in August—only four months away. Frederick, meanwhile, felt he’d gotten a new lease on life. He was already planning their itinerary in Rome. He’d always wanted to visit the Baths of Caracalla, McKim’s prototype for Penn Station. That would be a day in itself. A full week in Rome, then. And while they were in Italy, how could they pass up the chance to see Venice?
But how far, Frederick remarked, the demolition of Penn Station had advanced after only five months! Exiting at Seventh Avenue, they passed beneath a sign proclaiming, “On the way to you…New Madison Square Garden Sports Center, Redeveloped Pennsylvania Station, We are doing everything to hasten completion of the project for your convenience,” with amateurish drawings of basketball and ice hockey players and a family dressed in traveling clothes, standing by their suitcases. Atop the entrance, a shroud covered the clock, flanked by female figures of Day and Night and the squadron of stone eagles, still maintaining their perch. A group of men peered through the entrance to the 31st Street driveway, now exposed to the light of day as the masonry was torn away to reveal the underlying steel skeleton. “Sorry, but clear it we must to build your new station.”
Sorry?
Pennsylvania Station Page 16
